


Somnolence

by Transistance



Series: Incompatible [11]
Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: F/M, Kissing, Pigeons, Sleep, Sleeping Together, Watching Someone Sleep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-29
Updated: 2015-10-29
Packaged: 2018-04-28 20:22:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5104529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Transistance/pseuds/Transistance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grell considers William's sleeping habits and his liking of pigeons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Somnolence

**Author's Note:**

> William is busy angsting about their relationship but Grell's head is full of birds, go figure.

She loved to watch him sleep.

It always sounded a little creepy when phrased like that, but she couldn't think of a simpler way to put it. She loved being in his presence when he himself was absent, mind far away and yet right there, closed off from the realities of waking life. She loved the peace that so rarely graced his face when he was conscious; loved that he let her observe him in this most vulnerable state.

It was still a novelty that he was comfortable enough with her now to do this. In the past he'd never been – the only times she had seen him out were the scattering of occasions on which he had been knocked unconscious whilst on duty with her, way, way back when they had both been juniors. Aside from that, never; he had never passed out at a party, never allowed himself to droop whilst at his desk. Even on the nights during their final exam he had insisted on separate rooms, and she had called him a _prude_ and _fearfully irrational_ , but every time she had attempted to creep through – not for any immoral reason in particular, but more because the beds were _cold_ and she was the sort of being who had to have physical company of one sort or another - she would find one green eye half open in the darkness, sizing her up. Distrustful.

So it was a gorgeous thing to be able to watch him lying silent beside her, sometimes as motionless as death and sometimes breathing gently, the output of his spent air warm and human in the night.

And quite aside from being gorgeous, it was frustratingly rare. His tendency was to announce his fatigue and intention of retiring and then _stay up_ , attempting to finish one last paper or sign off one last form – which she didn't understand, because that was what overtime was for and why on _earth_ would anyone want to bring work _home_? - and then by the time that she did feel his warm body next to hers the drowsiness had always set in. And then, somehow, in spite of this, he inevitably managed to get up earlier than her as well most mornings. He claimed he had to, to get everything in order before going to work, but they both knew that her daily routines took much longer than his did – but then again, she was often late. Living with him had failed to solve that problem.

It was the pigeons, really. Grell wasn't particularly familiar with the birds – preferring always to take messages herself whenever possible rather than send them so impersonally by carrier – but they had been Will's method of sending word since forever, and she had never known why. There had always been a background assumption that it had had something to do with his mortal life, but she had never asked, and had been entirely blind-sided when met by the fact that he apparently took _care_ of them.

Not wholly, of course. The Dispatch pigeons lived where they pleased and bred as they wished, but the fact remained that they were reliant on the reapers for food and the chance to portal into the mortal realm that they had once inhabited. They were strong, sleek, feathery little rats, and it was a junior's job to feed them every morning, not a supervisor's.

And yet, in spite of this, he had never passed the task on to some other poor lackey – which told her that he enjoyed it, whether he would admit that or not. He _enjoyed_ going out in the chill of the morning, alone, come rain or clear sky to feed the pigeons from the Dispatch's tightly budgeted store of grains bought in for the carriers. She couldn't quite understand why.

Perhaps he found solace in their company.

So she accompanied him one day, one bright morning on which she actually did manage to awaken and rise at more or less the same time as he did and attach herself to his arm before he left the house. She'd barely had time to make herself look presentable, but decided it would be no matter; who would be out to see her this early in the day? The pigeons wouldn't notice the imperfections on her skin.

They had been mistrustful of her, at first, this blood-haired stranger that William had brought out into their midst – but then again she hadn't exactly been charitable about them either, and they warmed up to her as soon as Will started to feed them.

They clustered around him then, a dense mob of flapping wings and bobbing heads, several taking paths over her feet as though she wasn't at all in their way. Perhaps the prospect of birdseed blinkered them to all other items in the present.

She was surprised, again, at the sheer level of comfort he showed with them. In Grell's admittedly limited experience they were fairly unclean creatures, shedding feathers and dirt, the sort of disorder that she would expect Will to abhor. But he knelt amongst them and they allowed him to inspect their overall health, and when he put a hand out one of them nipped at it in a stupid and curious manner before hopping lightly onto it. Then he stood, the pigeon fluttering its wings to balance, and held it up to inspect it more closely.

“Look at her,” he said, softly, so as not to scare the bird.

Grell raised her eyebrows and pretended not to feel the stab of irrational jealousy in her gut. _It's a bird, for God's sake, calm down._ “'Her'?”

“I'm almost certain. I'm also almost certain that she's carrying eggs.”

Grell peered at it, pursing her lips as she pretended to study it. She was absolutely not in the know about the average sizes of pigeons enough to be able to give any deeply insightful comments, but it certainly did seem to be fat. “Maybe you've been overfeeding it.”

“Maybe,” he agreed, and then held it out to her. 

_You would trust me with this small, pregnant life? With my history?_

But those had been women, not birds, so Grell took the creature carefully onto her palms and tried to eye it with something positive. It twisted its head at her and cooed.

 _Ugly little creature, aren't you?_ She didn't say that out loud, of course. “Well, aren't you just... lovely,” she managed instead, and offered it a finger, which it bit. Grell failed to disallow the inevitable look of disgust from coming to pass. “Sorry, I've never used pigeons for anything other than the very occasional letter. Do you want..?” Attempting to yield the pigeon back to Will caused a raised hand and shaken head, so she knelt and let it hop gently onto the ground again.

William was not smiling – not quite. But there was an ease in his face, some fine, minute openness about his eyes as he stood a deity amongst his cloud of birds, and she recognized that he was happy in some careful, quiet way of his own.

So Grell smiled for him, wide and unrestrained, and threw her arms around him – and then she caught it, the faintest glimpse of the upturning of his mouth, betraying his feeling for all the still morning to see. And his arms were around her and the callous alienation of his hard form fell away under the closeness of her affection for him, and when he did release her a little it was to comb his hand through her hair, gentle on her skull as he leaned down to kiss her.

She pushed up against him and let him have her wholeheartedly, his tongue apparently having been made to caress hers and his murmured contentment alive in her mouth as she made this compacted form of love to him. His hands glided as hers held him steady, constellating the points of her cheekbones and exploring her waist, up her back, and he was everything she wanted, and she was everything he needed.

And they were gods, living creatures born of death, each other's shining hearts held crystalline in the glittering frost of this new day as they exchanged the gift of heat and euphoric promise, an empty premise for nothing but continuity.

She knew, after all, how he did like continuity.

When they broke the embrace she found him flushed and the look he gave her sat at perfect equilibria between reproach and gratitude, which was still so very abnormal on those naturally impassive features. His gloved hand had not left her cheek, the leather warm and smooth against her chilled skin, and he did smile a proper smile before letting it fall. _You're beautiful,_ she thought suddenly, the desire to kiss him again bursting into life in her chest. They were too far apart, these inches of air insulating their touch and cooling his gorgeous molten love back into the rock that most often inhabited his chest. But there was life in those jade eyes, electric and dynamic, reflecting the fire in hers.

So she simply took his hand, entwining their fingers together with enough force that Will rolled his eyes at the gesture, and stepped forward slightly too fast, frightening the pigeons into flight.

They exploded from the ground without warning, all at once, the drum-beat of their wings suddenly everything in the soft grey world of spiralling movement and life, and for a moment there was nothing but feathers; no park, no sky, no path. Only pigeons. And then they were gone.

The look William gave her now was definitely reproach. He sighed, once, at length and said, “I think they liked you.”

“Oh, you're not just saying that to make me feel better, are you?” she teased, and laughed at his expression. “After all, I know our relationship would have no chance if your flock disapproved.”

William snorted. “Honestly. They're birds, Grell – their disapproval or lack thereof affects nothing.”

That reassurance somehow meant more than the thousand answers she had expected him to give, and when she tightened her fingers around his hand there was a moment in which she could have sworn he'd done the same. “We should go,” he added abruptly. “It wouldn't do to be late for work.”

As it transpired she was late for work anyway, and the look he gave her when she did sign in could have been seeded in the heart of an antagonistic stranger – but then he sighed, rolled his eyes, and simply informed her that her assignments were on her desk, as they always were. She grinned at him, the way she always had and always would, and blew him a kiss on the way out.

Maybe she'd be able to convince him to sleep properly tonight.


End file.
